God and Post-Apocalyptic Fiction

Posted on April 20, 2015 by Sean T. Smith

When the world is smashed and burning, I believe people will question why God abandoned us, while many who are not religious will turn to religion as a way of coping with the pain and destruction around us. Two of my favorite Post-Apocalyptic novels deal directly with faith: The Stand, by Stephen King, and A Canticle For Leibowitz, written by Walter M. Miller. These novels both had a direct influence on my writing.

I’ve had a few reviewers attack the religious elements of my work, although the overwhelming majority of readers, both religious and agnostic, are not troubled by the way .the characters respond to the end of the world as we know it. While I wrote these novels from a Christian perspective, the books are by no means intended to be an extended sermon. Man has an innate need to connect to our creator, to find a way to explain our existence. Indeed, the idea of the apocalypse itself appears in Roman and Greek myths. The stories of the Biblical Flood and Armageddon go back thousands of years, and are a part of our collective human psyche.

There is a reluctance now, it seems, for post-apocalyptic fiction to address religion. I wonder why that is? Are authors fearful of alienating readers? (This was certainly very much on my mind when I wrote Objects of Wrath.) Whether it’s zombies, a virus, an asteroid, or a war, the majority of PA novels delve into the questions of faith in a cursory manner. I’m not implying there is anything wrong with this approach, and certainly many survivors would not ask larger questions, being more concerned with finding food or fleeing the approaching hoarde.

When I read a novel or watch a movie, one of the things that keeps me interested are the questions, “what would I do? How would I react? How would that feel?” Whether it’s watching an epic battle from Braveheart and putting myself into the shoes of the men waiting for a thundering charge from heavy cavalry or reading the heart-wrenching scenes in The Road, where the father tells his son how to shoot himself. I contemplate the emotional impact, try to see and feel what the characters would be going through. In Saving Private Ryan, when the soldiers are coming toward the beach, rounds zipping through the water, bombs falling, what would that feel like, to have been one of those men? What would I do?

I’m certain that I’d pray. I’d question my faith, but I’d be simultaneously clinging to it. I think that’s how most people would behave. There are atheists in foxholes, but not many.

One of the things about post-apocalyptic fiction which appeals to me is that it offers an unflinching examination of the human condition, a window into our essential being. When laws have disappeared and civilization is absent, what sort of people are we? Philosophers like Locke, Rousseau and Hobbs talk about our “state of nature” before the social contract. I love books that take a look at this question. It’s one of the reasons I enjoy The Walking Dead. While some novels offer a very dark outlook on humanity, in which most men are truly evil by nature, others are more hopeful. I think most people are decent and good, although evil is hungry and seductive. Can good defeat evil, even when it looks as though darkness has already won?

Religion can be a force for good or great evil. In my second novel, Children of Wrath, this is the central theme. Faith in and of itself is not always a good thing. There are atrocities being committed around the world even as I write, killing carried out in the name of religion. Whether or not one believes in any sort of God, there is no denying the way that religion has shaped our world. After the world as we know it ceases to be, people will still turn to the heavens, sometimes shaking their fists, other times begging for help.

Posted on April 7, 2015 by Sean T. Smith

No Safe Place

No safe place is left these days
Though I wish it wasn’t true
Hunkered, shaking, in silent cold
A piece of me in you
Amid the ruins and bleached bones
This world gone insane
Bitten, bleeding, dying, dark
In the end betrayed

It wasn’t really you
I try to believe
Like the thing I am becoming
Won’t truly be me
Maybe we’re all hungry
And that’s how it’s always been
The ones that take big pieces
Are the ones we let in
I’m turning
Yearning
http://www.amazon.com/Objects-Wrath-Sean-T-Smith/dp/1618682245/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1428375401&sr=8-1&keywords=objects+of+wrath

Friends and Sharks

Posted on March 17, 2015 by Sean T. Smith

It’s late and Springsteen is playing in my sanctum and I’m thinking about friends. About what friendship means to me. I thank God for my friends, I thank them, and I wish I’d been a better friend all along, to all of them. Friends are precious, and I’m blessed to have some.

Friends make you better, even if it’s better at being worse. A true friend will do both things, over the years. That’s how it is. I’ve been lucky enough to have friends like that, and I’ve been a bad influence and a good one, a hellion and a saint, a healer and a divider. My friends have been that too, and that’s good.

We know many people, but have few friends. We have plastic smiles and rainbow relationships which are real in the way of whipped cream, and equally as fulfilling. We all know the difference in our hearts, and miss it when we settle for less.
My friends are few, and I’m all right with that. I’d like to be a better friend, having more to give than I take.

Friends are honest when it hurts, even if it hurts them. Even when honesty is something which pierces a lie most terrible and devouring. There is a certain loyalty in that.

An old friend is someone who is there for you, when you need them. I’ve found that often this doesn’t mean they’re actually around or that I even talk to them. They’re with me in spirit, and their memory speaks wisdom to me, words I need to hear, a voice in my mind like my own conscience, but separate. Sometimes, though, you need a friend to physically pull your ass out of whatever trouble you’ve gotten yourself into.
I’ve had quite a few near-death experiences with one particular old friend of mine, and here’s one. We were SCUBA diving down in the keys. Now, I’m an experienced diver and a strong swimmer, but when things go wrong under water, they tend to go very wrong, very fast. We were spearfishing on a coral reef, and at first we stayed together, but wound up getting separated, each of us chasing fish all over the reef. There is a kind of hyper-focus that happens when you’re after a nice grouper, the thrill of the hunt and the idea of what that fish is going to taste like that afternoon when you pull the boat up to the restaurant and it gets blackened and served with the lobster also in the cooler. An epic meal, a perfect end to a glorious day. An ice cold Red-Stripe, conch-fritters, the sunset on the water, you get the picture…
I was down about a hundred feet, pushing the limits of my air. Visibility had been pretty good, but the current grew stronger and the water got progressively more cloudy. The thing is, I’d speared a nice fish, maybe a 20 pounder, and he’d twisted off the spear. The fish was bleeding, and he was certain to die, and I hated that. So I kept pursuing him, him swimming sideways and thrashing about with blood coming out of him, ringing the dinner bell.
I like the idea of sharks. Diving on the reef, you know they’re around, and sometimes you catch a shadowy glimpse of a torpedo shape gliding through the murk at the edges of your vision. It makes the dive special and memorable when that happens, and there is a sense of being lowered on the food chain and being a part of nature in a way that is impossible in the world of Starbucks and paved paradise. I get alarmed when they start getting overly curious, though. I’ve had sharks and barracuda steal a fish I’ve speared, and that’s an uncomfortable experience. Blood in the water and feeding frenzies and what-not.
This magnificent grouper decided his best bet was to hole up beneath a car-sized brain-coral. I bled air from my BC and put my belly on the sand and peered into the darkness. I could see the blood trailing out, but I couldn’t see the fish. I stuck my arm into the hole (dumb) with the spear gun extended, and wound up nailing the fish with the loaded gun. I dragged him out from under the hole, feeling pretty pleased with myself. My mask was leaking and salt water burned my eyes. My air was critical. I began my ascent.
I should have let the fish go in the first place, because at 100 feet down, I knew I had to make safety stops to avoid getting the bends. When I saw the Great Hammerhead cruise past, then circle, I was afraid. He was about fourteen feet long, and thick, passing close enough that I could see his teeth. I’d never seen one while diving before, only from the safety of a boat. Hammerheads eat people from time to time. Graceful, deadly, moving with effortless, predatory intent.
I’m not one prone to panic. I’ve faced some pretty grim situations where people were trying to kill me with guns or knives. This time though, I started to freak out. I couldn’t think clearly, and even remembering it now, I have a blurry feeling of terror in me. I couldn’t just shoot to the surface because I’d die. I had to pace my ascent from the depths, rising at the same leisurely speed as my bubbles. And I had two safety stops looming ahead, where I’d be forced to hang there in the water. I had about 100 psi left in my tank, so if there wasn’t any sort of reserve in there, and probably even if there was, I was in trouble.I let the line out on the spear gun so that the speared fish dangled about twenty feet below me. It was mostly dead, still bleeding. A reef shark showed up to enjoy the show, but it was the hammerhead and my lack of air that worried me the most.

I heard the engine turn on the boat, twice. My friend telling me to get my dumb ass to the surface. I waited at the first safety stop, and it got hard to pull air. I was at the end of the tank. I could see the boat, a shadow against the sun above me. I was using more air than I should have because I was fighting the current, drifting now, away from the boat, still maintaining my depth. There was a splash.
My friend, deciding that I’d been down too long, and seeing the damn big assed shark, jumped into the ocean. He swam down, and we used the extra regulator, a thing called an octopus, to get to the surface, the big shark giving us the evil eye the whole time.

We pulled into Whale Harbor Marina that evening and ate a platter of grouper, lobster, and conch fritters. It was the best meal I’ve ever had.
That’s a good friend.

A Rising Tide Lifts All Boats | Fiction Writing of Steven Konkoly

Posted on March 16, 2015 by Sean T. Smith

A Rising Tide Lifts All Boats | Fiction Writing of Steven Konkoly.

A Life, Well Written…Heroes, Villians, Lies and Truth. One Draft.

Posted on March 9, 2015 by Sean T. Smith

I used to scoff at regrets, probably because they hadn’t yet accumulated enough mass. I was confidant and convinced, in the way young men are, that regrets are for for fools. I believed I could fight my way through life without the deep wounds and scars born of mistakes, and I charged with unswerving abandon and careless faith and speed straight into middle age. The truth hurts when it comes crashing. I’m an author, but I haven’t written my own life the way I should have, the way I would if I were a character in one of my own books.

“Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show,”
Charles Dickens opens David Copperfield with that poetry, my favorite first sentence in literature. Not only would I like to write like that, I’d like to succeed in living that great commission. Heroes fall and fail and triumph in the end because they learn from their mistakes, because they are able to feel the sting of regret and overcome great obstacles and great odds. There is always adversity, the thing is to defeat it.

I write heroes in my books that would despise me if they knew me, because they’re better, these characters and constructs who are more brave and good than I am. I’m just a writer, not a hero. I’ve been writing and dreaming and lost in words and acting as though I had an editor for my life. Someone to excise the mistakes, cut the fat, correct the regrets. I’ve got just one draft, though, here and now, which is my life here on this earth. No auto correct, no edits, no way to change the character arc or tweak the ending. One draft, all the way through, is what I’ve got, and if it sucks, then it does. It’s a lowsy story.

I think there’s a bit more to it, though, than that. I’m far from figuring it out, and I’ve got my scars and regrets. I’m writing this interactive video game, where the characters make choices that impact the ending, and I think the universe is like that. Sometimes there are no good endings, no matter what, not here in this mean world. Mostly, though there are endings which could be satisfying when we, the actors in the play, the characters in the story of our lives, listen to the wrong things. I know I do.

Paul says in Hebrews 12:2 “Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith.” I’m an author, but I haven’t been the author of my fate, not in the way I’d like to believe I’ve been. I certainly haven’t kept my eyes where they were supposed to be looking. One draft, one chance to get it right, and my choices make a difference, and I’m still hoping that my life will be written well, both by me and THE author.

Don’t Hold Your Breath

Posted on March 5, 2015 by Sean T. Smith

Don’t hold your breath unless you’re under water, because while you’re waiting for the next thing, life is drowning you and all you end up doing is choking for air.

It’s the quiet that defines a man, not moments of fleeting wonder and raucous triumph, for the real glory lives in the little things we overlook and forget, the mundane and true. It’s in the Sunday sigh of a woman in love while the rain comes down outside and the moan of the wind and the lazy smiles and wrinkled sheets. Walks in the woods when the world is still and the air is sharp and right and the leaves are turning with bittersweet autumn, death and renewal and the promise of spring, possessed of a magnificence all its own.

The glory in life is found in the simple things. Changing diapers at two in the morning, dancing around the living room with your baby to sooth him back to sleep, walks to the bus stop at dawn, tying shoes and bed-time songs. The laughter over silly things and inside jokes, late-night trips to the hospital.There is glory there, There was. We often miss it along the way, for our eyes are on the wrong things, and then we ache for it when we remember to remember.

We’re constantly bombarded by images of success, and what it means to be happy. It’s the bigger house, the newer car, the promotion, the vacation, the next thing. We live in a world of instant gratification which seems largely bereft of true happiness and contentment. Our technology is miraculous and gives us the ability to talk to friends around the world with a few clicks, yet we are lonely, for the cell phones and ipads, video games and social media which provide this so called “connectivity” lead to a disconnect with our souls. It’s a hollow feeling.

It’s hard for Christians, who are exhorted to be “in” this world but not “of” it, for the lessons Jesus taught go completely against what the world continues to tell us. Christians are supposed to surrender to be victorious, lose in order to win, give to receive joy. It’s hard to keep our eyes fixed upon Jesus when the world comes crashing in, howling and loud, tempting and insidious.

The lasting, true glory is there, though, in a relationship with the Creator, and in those mundane moments, if we listen, he is whispering to us. I admit I’ve been holding my breath my whole life. It’s time to breathe.

America’s Second Civil War

Posted on March 2, 2015 by Sean T. Smith

A storm is building on the horizon, one which threatens to smash this great country. As the nation becomes increasingly divided and the level of rhetoric reaches new, jarringly painful levels, a thing which once was unthinkable is now a real possibility. The United States faces very real threats from an increasingly pugnacious Russia, a surging China, and the insane ISIS movement, yet the greatest threat may well be from within.

Last week, former Senator Ron Paul, father and mentor of leading Presidential candidate Rand Paul said this:

“I would like to start off by talking about the subject and the subject is secession and, uh, nullification, the breaking up of government, and the good news is it’s gonna happen. It’s happening,”

Good news? What? The first Civil War killed more than 650,000 Americans. More American boys died at Antietam in one day than in the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan combined. Ron Paul is not alone in his thinking.

In Texas, which has the world’s 15th largest economy, a petition to secede from the Union several years ago garnered 60,000 signatures. Texas Governor Rick Perry said “When we came into the nation in 1845, we were a republic, we were a stand-alone nation,” adding, “And one of the deals was, we can leave anytime we want. So we’re kind of thinking about that again.” Governor Perry later attempted to clarify his remarks, stating that he never mentioned the word “secession.”

Last April in Wisconsin, the state’s Republican party voted on a resolution which would give the state to secede from the union; it was opposed by Governor Walker, who has his eyes on the White House. The fact that so many lawmakers were even considering this possibility is chilling.

The country itself seems to be broken. Our federal government does not function in the way it was designed to do, for compromise is the essence of democracy. This Republic, with all it’s brilliant checks and balances, breaks down when the political parties refuse to compromise. The founding fathers were very conscious of the danger of tyranny by the minority or majority. Congress isn’t working the way it’s supposed to. The executive branch has increased its authority by using executive orders to circumvent congress, and the nation finds itself on the brink of disaster every time a budget issue comes up. Right now, it’s Homeland Security, and House Speaker Boehner is blowing kisses at reporters.

The polarization of the nation is insidious and potentially lethal. For some reason, both parties have become ensconced in their positions, and have convinced the general populace that to be a Republican, one must think one way and that to be a Democrat, another set of opposing beliefs is the gospel. The media pours gasoline on this inferno of lunacy, and helps frame the debate in the most divisive way possible until there is no reasoned discussion, only howls of rage and pain on both sides. When people only hear one side of the story, whether or not it’s true and balanced, eventually we accept it as reality. Politics and morality are not so simple, the talking heads only want us to believe that.

We, the people are allowing others to define our beliefs for us, rather than thinking for our selves. As Thomas Jefferson said, “The sheep are happier to themselves than under the care of the wolves.” We have become a nation of sheep, and the wolves are hungry.

I find problems with both parties, which is why I don’t vote a straight ticket, and why I wish I had more choices, more moderates to chose from. I’m a firm believer in the Second Amendment, a strong military, and less government intrusion. But I think regulating big business is a good idea, though and have no desire to return to the 1800s, when robber-barons ran amuck, when labor laws, environmental and anti-trust laws did not exist. To me, less government intrusion also means that a woman should be able to choose what to do with her body, and gay people should be allowed to marry. It doesn’t mean I agree with those choices, but that the government has no right to decide for them. That’s what limited government means. There is a big dichotomy there for the GOP.

I’m dreading the next election cycle, which is certain to break records with the money spent on television and radio ads, and which will be the nastiest Presidential election in history. I consider myself an Independent, and I’ll weigh my choices between the lesser of two evils carefully. I talk politics with my friends on both sides of the isle all day long and sometimes they convince me I’ve missed something, or that I’ve viewed a specific issue wrong, and I’ll agree that they’re right over a beer. That’s what’s missing in the country now, I think, on a large scale. Our politicians and the media machines which drive this nation are intent upon taking us off a cliff, firmly believing that there is only one right way. The American People are better than that, smarter than that.

So what will the next Civil War look like? be on the lookout for my coming novel, The Tears of Abraham. In the meantime, check out SUNSHINE PATRIOTS, a prepper-themed novella about liberty and freedom under siege.

adding, “And one of the deals was, we can leave anytime we want. So we’re kind of thinking about that again.”

Author or Salesman part II: How to show an author love…

Posted on February 16, 2015 by Sean T. Smith

We writers are an odd breed. We drink coffee into the wee hours, hunched over computers in small rooms and carved out spaces, getting up early to work day jobs and burning our candle at both ends. We leave our blood and heart on the page, dreaming characters, plot, and conjuring worlds in our minds. That’s the fun part, the creating, the honing, the story-telling. At some point, we set our work free to roam cyberspace, hoping that someone reads it and feels something true.

After it’s live on Amazon, then comes the anguished part of the process. We log onto our author page and check our sales rank, and we look for reviews. Good reviews make our day, and a bad review can cast a pall over a week. I’ve been told many times not to read bad reviews, but it hasn’t stuck yet. I read them, and I try to learn something from them. The general thinking amongst the author community is that 4 and 5 star reviews are good, and anything less is bad. Potential readers will often read the negative reviews, too, looking for a common thread. Also those 3 stars tend to give a little more credibility to the other reviews on the page. It’s a numbers game; the more reviews an author gets, the more books he or she is going to sell.

Indie authors must promote themselves, which is a nuisance for both the writer and for their friends, who grow weary of chest-thumping and begging and pleading. Writers don’t like doing it and people generally don’t like to hear about it. I understand. I apologize. There is no other way, unfortunately, for a writer to break out among the millions of other voices, attempting to be heard. So we blog, and we tweet, we Facebook, we Google Plus, we join groups on Linkdin and we post on Tumblir and Instagram, doing what the industry people who are far more savvy at marketing call “building your brand,” and equally important, “building your platform.”

An author’s brand is essential. If someone says, “I’m about to read a Tom Clancy book,” I know what they’re talking about. Clancy built a brilliant brand of military techno-thrillers. The brand is the author’s name in association with the books he or she writes.The reader has a certain expectation of the kind of book the novelist has produced, and will decide to buy based upon that prior knowledge.

The platform is just as important, if not more so. An author’s platform is how we are able to reach people. Social Media is the foundation of this platform, but it also includes book signings, radio show appearances, press releases, networking with other writers, and anything else we can dream up to find readers. For new authors, it’s maddeningly difficult to build a platform.

As a relatively new novelist, I’m familiar with these woes. There is the feeling of a tree falling in snowy woods when a book is released. A muffled, quiet sound at best. My publisher is a big believer in “soft releases” which lead to a “long tail.” I’ve not yet quite figured out exactly what that means. I guess that the hope is word of mouth makes a novel or a series take off, and this takes a long time. In the meantime, authors have to keep writing, keep producing, not relying on one book or three.

Here’s where our friends are so important.

If you’ve got a friend or family member is an author, please buy their books. (Hence the begging!) For less than the price of a Starbucks Latte, you get eight hours of serious entertainment. Less than the price of a movie ticket. And folks, the book is always better than the movie.

After you read the books, please leave honest reviews. (more with the begging.) Reviews matter because they drive sales. The more reviews we receive, the more Amazon does it’s thing promoting our books to a wider audience. We’re more likely to qualify for promotional tools like Bookbub, which can potentially make or break a novel. I know it’s a pain to log back onto Amazon and crank out a review. But it really makes a difference to all of us who are striving to entertain a wider audience, those of us who dream of quitting that day job and sitting down at the computer both during the day and in the middle of the night.

If you enjoyed the book, tell people about it! Share a post every now and then, pass out a business card, or simply mention the book if you’re having a conversation about books. If you’re in a book club, throw it in the ring. People listen to what you have to say, and that word of mouth recommendation is crucial. It means more to us than you know.

No one told me I had to be a writer, no one insisted that being an author was the only right path for me, and that’s how it is for all of us, we crazy writer folk. We chose this path because we felt drawn to words, this need to create, and deep down we believe that we have something worthy to say, and emotion to impart. Whether it’s pure entertainment or something profound, we want to move people.

If we have moved you, please leave us reviews! And you will have succeeded in moving us.

amazon.com/author/seantsmith

understand.

Am I an author or a salesman?

Posted on February 3, 2015 by Sean T. Smith

I’ve spent more than twenty years as a writer who bangs on doors. Literally knocking on doors in neighborhoods like a vacuum cleaner salesman of old, while figuratively attempting to break into the publishing business, sending out manuscripts and queries, song demos and attending parties thrown for other people. I’ve stayed up all night, pounding out the words and the melody, believing that one day, someone might hear something I wrote and it might matter to them in some way. A smile, a tear, a memory, a truth. The next morning, I’m grinning and pretending to be impervious to the nasty looks from folks who don’t want to see me shivering on their front porch in the pouring down rain.

When I signed my first publishing contract for a song, I thought my ship had come in. I was wrong, two decades ago. When I signed a three-book publishing contract, I believed that at last, the tide had turned in my favor. That was two years ago. I was knocking on doors about an hour ago. Sad but true.

One would think that a career in sales would be helpful to launching a book, utilizing lessons hard won for a higher purpose. Nope. Not for me, at least. Because the thing is, I hate sales. Always have. I enjoyed the freedom of setting my own hours and a reasonable standard of living, although in recent years that has declined with a direct correlation to the number of hours I spend writing novels and thinking about plot and wishing I wasn’t ringing somebody’s doorbell.

I hope I’m a better writer than salesman. The trouble is, to make a living writing, an author has to sell. People have to know what we have to offer, must see the need for that product, and then make the decision to purchase it, that wonderful click on Amazon. I hate to think of it in those terms. I’d rather believe that it’s something other than that, but that’s what it is.That’s not to say that the quality of the next great American novel isn’t important. Every now and then, there is a story about a writer who rockets to well deserved stardom and acclaim because whatever she wrote was so good it couldn’t be denied.I love those stories.

I used to believe in the theory that the “cream will rise to the top.” But I’ve known too many killer songwriters who died unknown and destitute, read countless brilliant books by obscure authors, while watching hordes flock to the Kardashians and Fifty Shades of Gray and listen to country-rap music. (Oxymoron) Yet all of those things are hugely successful. The creators of those endeavors birthed empires from vapor, and that’s some damn good salesmanship. The thing is to sell something that people want to buy, and let them know it’s there. I’ve struggled with that concept for as long as I’ve been writing and selling, and for me there has been a dichotomy. Writing is writing. Selling is selling. I want to write true, but I also want to make a living. I hope the two aren’t mutually exclusive for me. I’m still dreaming, still believing, writing hard and close to the bone.

I’ve got three book releases this week, and I’m a crummy salesman. If you read my books, I think you will smile, perhaps cry, and certainly be transported to places you’ve never been. I’d consider it a kindness if you’d “click.”

For the most part, what a salesman hears is “I’m not interested.” I hear it every day, and it wears me out now more than it did only a few years ago.

Three Releases this week!

Posted on February 1, 2015 by Sean T. Smith

In a cool confluence of events, I’ve got three releases going live on Amazon this week. The conclusion to the Wrath trilogy, Wrath and Redemption is available for pre-order now, and will be available on Feb. 3. In this sweeping finale, readers will get a better sense of what has happened beyond the United States in the years following The Fall. From the Saharan desert to Siberian tundra and the streets of Rome, the Foxes struggle to keep evil at bay. In this novel, Crystal is actually one of my viewpoint characters, along with Russian general Leo Petrovitch, Ryder, who is now full grown, and of course, William Fox. It was hard leaving these characters and this world behind, but I think this book wraps the series up nicely.

Also releasing on Tuesday Feb. 3 is my novella Sunshine Patriots, set in Stephen Konkoly’s newly minted Perseid Collapse Kindle World. Following an EMP attack by China, the eastern United States is hurting. A family still reeling from loss finds themselves under attack and fights to survive, from the sweltering FEMA camps to the mangrove swamps of the Florida Keys. This is a page-turner, I think, and very fast paced. I’m deeply honored that Steve invited me to be a part of this project, which features some of the best post-apocalyptic writers in the business.

The third release is a horror anthology, At Hell’s Gates (volume 2), which features a short story I wrote a few years ago. The great thing about this collection of short stories is that all of the proceeds go to benefit the Intrepid Fallen Heroes Fund, a great charity that helps veterans and their families. There are some fantastic stories in this book, written by some top indie horror writers. My contribution is a weird science-fiction piece about a castaway on a far-flung planet.

I’ve got a fourth full length novel which I plan to publish sometime this spring, The Tears of Abraham, which is about the next American Civil War. Finally, my story Fate of the Fallen, which follows the life of Malak, an angel who has lived and died many times for the last two thousand years, unique in that he posses free will and limited power will come out sometime soon, as well. I plan to release a series of three novellas about Malak, as he struggles to stave off Armageddon. I’m staying busy!

To all my readers, thank you for reading my work! I look forward to exploring new worlds together. I hope you’ll leave me an honest review on Amazon, because that really helps.